Ah! Time's Rift!
by Brandofloki
Summary: Growing up in an Assassin's Keep is unhealthy to one's mind and body. But Celaena emerged as Adarlan's Assassin, mentally sane (mostly), AND perfectly capable of squealing when she sees a particularly cute puppy. How, exactly, did our dear Arobynn raise her?
1. Chapter 1

Lynn cried. And cried. She hasn't stopped for a while.

Mama had found out about her gifts, despite her efforts. She'd lost her temper at a stupid servant and shifted into a leopard. Exactly when Mama was outside her door and heard the scream.

Lynn didn't remember her father, but she heard enough whispering from her family to know he was a shapeshifter just like herself. When she asked, they just told her he went mad and was killed by the city guards.

That must be why Mama had grabbed her by the hair and hauled her out the front door, slamming it behind her when she shifted back.

She had never seen such disgust in Mama's face. And the crying-on-the-doorstep thing didn't work.

She huddled up in a tree as a sparrow. The hasty nest she built herself could hardly preserve any warmth, even with her extra-thick feather coat. She shivered. This was _her_ tree一the one in her backyard, where she climbed and sat to watch the sunset countless times.

She couldn't sleep, with the cold and hunger gnawing on her. Thanks to the birdbath only metres away, she was nowhere near dehydration. But the _bugs._ She was horrified when she first got the urge to swallow a worm.

So at dawn she ruffled her feathers and flew to a deserted alley behind the Shadow Market, desperate for a job. She had had no luck yesterday when the Main Street shopkeepers had flat-out refused to keep her as an apprentice or even a maid.

Lynn pictured her human form and just _wished_ to look like that. Power coursed through her veins and the walls shrank, then she was on her bare feet once again. She was still wearing the filthy dress she last wore when Mama had thrown her out days ago. Her clothes disappeared upon shifting, and appeared when she was back in her human body in a way she couldn't explain. Magic.

She slipped out of the alley into one of the main passageways. The Market had just quieted down after a night's business. Vendors were packing up their stalls, a few noticing the little girl with her dirty demeanour. Probably dismissing her as a street urchin. _You're here for a job, Lynn._ She sucked in a collective breath, and shuffled into the nearest not nasty-looking stall.

The plump man stopped packing his various potions to give her a sidelong glance.

She noted the muck-covered pavement. " D-Do you need any help? I can do anything. Please," She could barely manage a hoarse whisper, due to the weeping these past few days. But she did her best to look pathetic, using those bright, bright green eyes of hers.

The vendor just squished his bushy brows and said," Drag your filthy ass out of here, vagrant."

Lynn's eyes went was the meanest thing anyone had said to her _ever_ , given that the girl had always been spoken to with flattery and sweet words when she dealt with merchants.

Tears welling and lips wobbling, she made a show of stumbling out with unsteady steps, but something caught her on the left that sent her sprawling on the grime. Pain shot through her elbow; the sound of glass shattering behind her was deafening.

"Get up," The man growled, "You're lucky that potion wasn't worth any more than a copper. Now shoo!"

She scrambled up and fled, not daring to look back for fear of seeing disgusted sneers directed at her. She didn't think she could stomach that.

Back into the alley where she first emerged, Lynn collapsed on the ground. She was lightheaded and cold to the bone, the scratch on her elbow burning like fire. If she didn't treat it soon, the wound might get infected.

She couldn't fly away the way she flew in. Her bruised and scratched elbow, if turned into a wing, wouldn't support her weight for long. She would have to walk home.

Groaning, Lynn slunk back into the Market.

Only a few passersby lingered on the streets. Beggars dotted the sewer entrances, no doubt waiting for someone looking rich enough to spare a copper.

They _did_ get a copper or two though, especially the cleaner looking ones. A pretty woman even got a handful of coins.

Well, it's better than getting nothing at all, and her stomach really hurts. So from what she had observed一pretty face equals to more money; she imagined a face and hair that she would call beautiful and changed her features. There! If she got enough money maybe she could eat a feast and get bandages for her wound later.

She held on to that hope as she fell to her knees, and begged.

* * *

She lost count of time. Groveling for food, protecting her earnings, shifting back and forth all blended together into a big nothing. She had no purpose, no goal to achieve. Her inner animals were the only ones keeping her alive; she ate when they told her to, she slept when they told her to. She wore a different face everyday, and steered clear of anybody who came her way. Until one day she _felt_ a physical blanket of nothingness spread over the continent, threatening to suffocate her. She tried to shift into a hawk, to lift those strong wings and _get out_ of where breathing was starting to become hard. But she remained a little girl. No, it couldn't be. She searched for the power inside her, if she could just feel a lick of it一

Empty. Like all magic was sucked away from her.

She was stuck in this body. Permanently.

She swore she could hear the anguished cries of magic wielders all over the land.

Magic was gone.

* * *

Arobynn Hamel strode into the Shadow Market. He'd just moved his Keep from the borders of Terrasen to Rifthold, where the glass castle shimmered in the distance. _Keep your enemies close,_ his master had once told him. That was one of the reasons he went through the trouble of 'befriending' the Crime Lords and brothel madams in the city.

He marveled at his luck. Not just he is now the unspoken King of the Assassins when he won his grotesque duel with the protégée of their master; a week later, when the news of the royal family of Terrasen being murdered had barely been spread, he found an eight-year old girl half-frozen on a river bank. Who'd had the Princess' Ashryver eyes and the heirloom of the royal family, the Amulet of Orynth in her clutch.

Not many people have seen Aelin Galathynius with their very own eyes, but they say she was a clone of her mother Evalin. The girl looked exactly like her.

Arobynn had found the biggest jewel the the world. He just had to cut and polish it to make it shine.

And to hide his precious gem from the King of Adarlan, he opted to live right under his nose, here in Rifthold.

With the late afternoon sun, he was comfortable in his thin tunic and pants, which did nothing to conceal the toned body beneath. He didn't bother to put on a hood一too obscuring to see the fear on people's face when they learnt of his name一and he brought many, many gold. To buy slaves, which were far more loyal and cheaper than hired servants, once made presentable. To buy weapons, the ones so fine and balanced the air sang when he whipped them around. And to buy a child's sparring outfit.

He was told to get all these in this Market, where dark dealings were made so often even his keen eyes couldn't keep track of all.

An hour later, he had spent all of his gold pieces. Those money-sucking vendors, always persuading him to buy more and more. They knew he had a weak spot for exquisite blades.

His pouches felt light, replaced by daggers and swords of all sizes strapped to his belt. More were on their way to the Keep.

But there _was_ something he could gain if he looked beneath the grime. Certain brothel madams were looking for acolytes and would pay a lot for a beautiful one.

He noticed an unusually pretty face among the beggars kneeling on the ground. The girl lifted her head when she felt his attention.

Not just pretty, but breathtaking. Those green eyes一wide, pleading and with a speck of curiosity. Worth the trouble if sold with a high price. But wouldn't survive long in this hellhole without help. Maybe he would give her just a little money to see if she had the wits to live.

He flicked a silver at her; it landed precisely in front of her knees. Her brows rose, gaping at the small fortune before her. Not a second later she scooped up the coin and latched on Arobynn's leg.

"Thank you! May the gods bless you with the same happiness you bestow upon me! I will be forever grateful一"

She was cut off with a shove from him. "Don't you dare mess up my clothes," he tilted his head to her filthy hands. She released them immediately. But he was secretly pleased to hear her words. Educated, and spoken with a lovely voice.

He purred, "Use it wisely, girl, or you'd be dead in a matter a days before I could visit you again."

"Why?" Her face held her question.

"Because you have the potential to succeed in a very, _very_ special career." He raked an eye over her body. She flinched.

"I suppose you're not mature enough to understand," he heaved a sigh. "Maybe later." he turned to leave.

"Wait."

The girl got to her feet. "P-please take me away. I'd like to leave here," she paused. "For whatever cost."

Arobynn studied her with liquid silver eyes. He was satisfied to detect desperation.

"What's your name, my dear?"

"Lynn."

"Good. Forget it. It is now Lysandra."

* * *

Aelin was burning. She was gifted with wildfire, but the heat had never bothered her. Until now.

The sunlight illuminated the ruby red stains on the mattress. Her parents laid on top of it, their necks sliced open ear-to-ear. She was too stunned to move away from between her parents' corpses, her nightclothes as red as the blood still seeping from their wounds.

Then Lady Marion was pushing her out the kitchen door telling her to _run run run,_ as the predatory footsteps neared. Although she had closed her eyes when she fled, she couldn't escape the torturing scene that played in front of her many, many times一Marion flung to the wall like a ragged doll, bones crunching. The swing of steel that took her life.

She screamed. Every step she took sent a jolting pain to her head, and the _insufferable_ heat cocooning her一

She sat up too fast from the four-poster bed. Dizziness hit her, and she fell back, panting and sweaty. A pair of steady arms caught her.

"Whoa, careful buddy, that was a real nasty nightmare," The owner of the pair of arms, a young man in his mid twenties said, laying her gently back on the sheets.

"Where-where who一" she broke into a rasping cough. The pressure in the air was overwhelming, the invisible weight snuffing out her very existence. That's when she realized一no fire. The flames that had once swirled inside her gut, wild and uncontrollable一had vanished.

It wasn't only a nightmare. This time, she couldn't go to her parents' bed to seek comfort from her mother's cool embrace. Because they are dead.

The pain was a dull ache in her chest.

"To start with, I'm Ben, and you're safe," He put a hand on her forehead and frowned, "You're burning with fever. Get some rest, Celaena."

Aelin blinked. She was sure there wasn't another person in the room. Ben was staring straight at her, watching her reaction to the name expectantly.

She just nodded. She would have given him a false name if he asked. Better to let him call her what he preferred than exercise her pounding head to think of a believable name. She whispered, "Where am I? Who's that man with the long red hair?" She had a vague memory of the man who had found her beside River Florine, and carried her to somewhere warm.

Ben's eyes sparked with surprise. It vanished a second later, replaced with a grim sadness that didn't match his age.

"That's Arobynn. He's your master now一our master." Her heart skipped a beat. "He is the King of the Assassins. _I'm_ an assassin. You will train to become one too."

 _Assassin._ The word echoed through her. She was to become a _killer,_ like the person who had murdered her father and mother. Ben looked at her with something that resembled pity.

"This is your room in the Keep. It's the base and fortress of the Assassin's Guild in Adarlan, full of trained professional killers. Arobynn controls us all." _So do not try to escape,_ he didn't need to add.

As if he could sense her alarm, Ben sat back a bit and smiled wistfully. "Your training starts once you're fully healed. Consider yourself lucky; you'll be trained by Arobynn himself," His expression said otherwise, "His methods might be a bit一cruel," He winced at the word, "but you will survive if you're tough." Aelin decided that she did not want to know what punishment awaited her if she failed.

Ben took in her pale, hopeless face. "There is a way out," he said quietly, "Freedom can be granted by your master. Absolute freedom." Aelin's breath hitched at the thought of being free. She had never been, however loose the shackles of her throne were. Her fate was sealed the moment she had been born. "But I don't think that has happened in the past. Most die before they could pay off their debt." She wanted to ask what debt, but he cut her off with a hand.

"Now rest," he commanded, "I've been given only a week to nurse you to health, with no headaches or cramps. I don't want to be assigned to toilet duty." With that, Ben stood up in one fluid motion and sauntered to the door silently.

"What's my last name?" She asked when he pulled the door open on well-oiled hinges.

He smirked a little. "Sardothien," and he walked away, shutting the door with barely a click.

Celaena Sardothien _._ A new name, a new place to start a new life. A life promised to be brutal, bloody and torturous. _And free,_ she mouthed. Such a foreign and delicious word on her tongue.

She staggered into the spacious bathroom. In the mirror she faced a gaunt girl with white lips and smudges of purple beneath her eyes. Still Aelin but somehow different. Closing her eyes, she bid a silent goodbye to Aelin Galathynius, the princess and heir of Terrasen.

She'd do anything to survive. To gain her freedom. Aelin embraced her new identity and opened her eyes.

The monster in her did the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**I've changed the age of Sam's mother when she gave birth to her son and extended her life for a year. I hope it doesn't affect your reading. Thanks for all the favs and follows!**

* * *

Lysandra could hardly keep up with the strange red headed man. He had such long and graceful strides that she had to run a little to catch up.

She didn't ask questions. Her only attempt at conversation was she offering him the piece of silver he'd given her earlier. He had waved her away.

"You'll need it," he said in that melodic purr, " Madame Clarisse counts her every single copper."

Lysandra did not understand. She had accepted the name, and was following this man to another place where she would begin a very, _very_ special career, according to him. Why would she need every copper from him if she had a job?

"What shall I call you?" She couldn't suppress her curiosity anymore, when they entered an area only richer merchants could afford the apartments. Even her previous family didn't live in this luxury.

"Arobynn," He didn't look at her.

They reached a street full of elegant manors, where the wealthiest lords and ladies lived. Her mouth formed the shape of an 'o' when Arobynn walked right into one with wicked barbed wire gates and pale stone walls. The heavily armed guards bowed and averted their gazes.

How scary was he to make these burly people bow to him in fear, she wondered. The guards glanced at her with a mask of calm, though she caught them holding their breath. She was still beautiful, though covered in dirt. The thought made her smile a little.

The lawn surrounding her was full of dead weeds, the gravel crunching beneath her feet. It sounded like bones.

The chatter of conversation was audible through the magnificent oak doors; Arobynn stepped up the marble tiles and swung them open in one shove.

The chatter became a roar. Under the massive chandelier, the entrance chamber was full of men armed to the teeth. Luggage and furniture were scattered about randomly, while a stray dagger or sword or a weapon she can't name lay here and there. When everyone saw them, a hush fell over the room. Arobynn just strode past everyone into the hall.

Everyone's attention went right to her. She met more than a few appreciative glances, wisely averting her eyes before they could pounce on her.

 _It was a test,_ she realized. To see how she would react to a house full of unfamiliar men, if she would breathe a word about their weapons and location. Lysandra had chosen to go with Arobynn, and now he would deem her worthy or not. She couldn't help but wonder what job required such charm and ignorance.

Schooling her features to neutrality, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin and sashayed after him. She would not disappoint.

A few amused snickers from the audience behind. "Whore," she heard one of them say.

Arobynn paused at the door located at the end of the hall to jab a finger in her direction. "Take her to a bath. She needs to freshen up. Oh, and you," he pointed to man dressed in servant clothing, " prepare the biggest carriage. We leave in an hour," he gave whoever was behind her in the shadows a perceptible nod.

Strong hands gripped her wrists and tugged her away from Arobynn. She didn't try to resist. "And put some decent clothes on her too, Wesley," Arobynn drawled. She lifted an eyebrow. He just gave her a piece of information. Was that a leap of faith? Or some warning to the person pulling her upstairs?

Wesley, who looked not a day over twenty, ascended the spiral with fast and even paces, still gripping on her wrist tight enough to hurt. He did not turn back when she stumbled on the second floor, falling on her rear. He kept going, half dragging her up and up, her feet getting painful thumps against the marble. She tried to stand up using her free hand, and cried out.

From the stinging she knew the skin at her wrist was sore. _Later,_ she clenched her teeth. _I will scream about it later._

Two more flights of stairs later, Wesley hauled her onto her feet and released her. She rubbed the aching spot where his hand had been, glaring at him resentfully.

He opened the door to a guest room before positioning himself beside the threshold.

"Go in and wash yourself," he ordered. Not a trace of emotion on that stone face.

She obeyed. They'd likely kill her if she tried to run away. She knew too much already. Step by step she walked in, shut the bathroom door and turned on the tap. The state of the pair of hands before her made her halt.

Her white hands were marred with nicks and scrapes, and several broken nails caked in brown dirt. A bruise was forming on one wrist and the other one's skin was abraded enough that the wound bled a little.

How long had she spent living on the streets of Rifthold? It seemed like months to her. Sighing through her nose, she peeled off her rags and slipped into the tub.

The warm water caressed her, relaxing her tense muscles. She laid there unmoving for a long while.

Voices started to appear in the peaceful silence. A low murmur at first, then an exclaimed sentence.

"The Shadow Market was _massacred?_ That's impossible. I'd been there just two hours ago!"

"It's true. Fred saw it himself. There were dozens of corpses in the sewers, and who knows how many were dumped into The Avery. The river was stained _purple_ , Wesley. They say it was the king who gave that order."

Wesley huffed. "Then how incredibly lucky is this girl. I believe she came from the market too; Arobynn went there today."

"Oh yes, how _fortunate_ of her to be sold to Clarisse, especially during this time of the year, " his companion mocked, "though I can't deny she is quite a looker." He chuckled, the sound faint with the two doors in between.

"You can't be serious, Ben, she's at least fifteen years younger than you."

" 'Course I am. Age doesn't matter to a courtesan; money does."

Both bursted out laughing. Lysandra, bored, took a towel and started scrubbing herself down. There was _shampoo_ on the rack of toiletries.

Massaging her itchy scalp with it, she thought of the butchered vendors and fellow vagrants in the market. The king had ordered to have them killed. Would she have died like them if Arobynn hadn't taken her in? But would she not _belong_ to anyone, or sold like a product if she chose to linger on the streets?

She realized she didn't care.

* * *

He entered her room without a sound. Celaena, named after the dark one, was asleep with drool running down her chin.

Arobynn studied his treasure. So frail and vulnerable, without her little fire magic.

"Hello, my darling," he said softly, testing out the word. Yes, he would call her this from now on.

His darling opened a brilliant turquoise eye full of feigned wariness. " _Master?"_ Not much, just enough edge to let him know she was mocking him. Perfect sarcasm. Though that mask of hers could be improved.

"I can see Ben had you well informed," he sat on the edge of her bed, a bit too close for her comfort一his first order to her. _Do not complain,_ he willed her with a pointed look.

Celaena opened her other eye and stared at him intently. Then he placed a hand on her cheek, pinning her with his gaze **.** She writhed in protest.

"Now, now," he said, "you're still quite sick. I wouldn't do that if I were you," Arobynn tutted, "Defying your master, eh?"

She let out a snarl, leaning away from his touch. "Don't touch me like that," her muffled words coming from the pillow in her face.

"Am I not allowed to do so?" he said calmly.

Celaena turned back and gave him a full glare with those Ashryver eyes. He smiled venomously back.

"Let's not bother with the pleasantries. I brought you a gift," he said, unlatching a sheathed dagger from his belt, "Bring it to training tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Ben said I had a week."

"I'll do as I please, and you've had more than enough sleep. Tomorrow, six o'clock in the morning. Let's see what you've got." he threw her the dagger, and she caught it on the hilt.

"You know, I do have some aim," she said gloomily.

He shrugged, "A necessary skill. You won't get a day off by mentioning it; though you might manage archery with some more ease."

She just studied her new weapon. "See you tomorrow, then."

He was _dismissed_ by his pet. Arobynn found the fact very amusing.

Shaking his head to hide the smile, he left her to her thoughts.

* * *

Her new jeweled dagger was expensive.

She could tell by the way the gemstones gleamed in the dimming light from the curtains. The King of the Assassins threw it at her like it was worth no more than dirt.

Gods above, the guy was scary. She'd managed to catch his throw, but her palm was still an angry red. It's true she had some aim, from what her tutors from Terrasen had taught her about fire magic, but none of them had dared to throw a blade towards the heir of their country.

Arobynn Hamel was a liar and a trickster, who had provided her shelter from the King of Adarlan, who had promised her freedom one day.

She unsheathed the cold metal with shaky hands. Never一never had she laid hands on a steel weapon before. The edge was wickedly sharp, capable of slicing through leather, perhaps even wood.

The silver gleam reminded her of her master's eyes, cold and unyielding.

 _Master,_ she let out a small laugh. Once she was the master of the strongest court in Erilea. Now she was no more than a crawling slave.

She debated plunging her gift into her heart. It would be so easy to fade into the afterworld, to join where her parents beckoned.

But she'd promised herself freedom. She couldn't let go without a shot at it.

Sitting up, she reached for the wooden canopy of the bed and used the blade to carve a hiding place for itself.

* * *

The carriage jolted to a stop, causing Lysandra to jerk awake.

Her hand fisted on the fabric of her emerald gown. The driver had not stopped ogling at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking.

 _Everyone_ on the streets had stared at her. She didn't know if she should be happy or embarrassed about it.

After watching the grey-ish muck in the bathtub go glurge-glurge-glurge and disappear, she'd saved her piece of silver from the rags on the tiles, wrapped herself in a comfy white towel, and poked her head out of the corridor. Wesley, to his credit, had only widened his eyes slightly before saying, "Your clothes are on the bed," and slammed the door shut, narrowly missing her nose.

Clothed in finery, she had been led into an enormous study by a servant and advised not to touch anything until 'Sir' arrived. Apparently, she meant Arobynn.

Now seated beside her, he handed the driver a few coppers before indicating her to open the cab doors. She jiggled the ornate handle and pushed it outwards with all her strength.

Moist air hit her face. She hopped on the dusty ground, expecting to see a manor similar to the one they had emerged from, lighting up a street resided by respectable gentlemen. But only dark warehouses greeted her.

She could tell when Arobynn got off the carriage by the shadows casted before her. He leaned towards the driver.

"You know how to behave," he said.

The driver nodded and steered away, as Lysandra watched her shadow grow longer and longer then fade. They were left in the moonlight.

She felt a hand on her waist. Arobynn bent down a bit to talk to her in the face, "Clarisse had precautions. To her, birthdays are very dangerous. Only her clients or fellow colleagues could get through the front door alive during this week or so," he brushed a piece of stray hair behind her ear, "Since you're neither, we have to enter using the assassin way."

"What's the assassin way?"

"I'm going to show you."

She squealed when he grabbed her in his arms and launched for the wall in the front. The bricks neared, but he did not slow. She squeezed her eyes shut for the oncoming impact一instead she felt the sense of going _up_.

Not floating, but elevating. She stole a glance through her lashes.

They were _two stories_ above the ground. And _still_ gaining height. She watched with fascination as his limbs got hold of the crevices in the wall to reach higher.

He swung them onto the roof, immediately taking off in a run. Wind whipped her hair, the edge came nearer; she could see the alley below一he leaped. The sudden feeling of weightlessness made her go stiff, and then he hit the opposite roof silently.

She was utterly amazed. It had seemed impossible, to jump that distance while carrying another person, but Arobynn had done it, even managing to create no sound.

That was only the first jump. She counted seven more, whooping every single time.

Finally, he eased down to a dark window of a five-floored red brick fortress surrounded with black iron gates. Even in the night, she could see the huge garden surrounding it was extremely well tended.

The window was unlocked in a matter of seconds. She was lifted gently into the unlit room, followed by him sliding gracefully through the small frame.

"How was it?" Arobynn ran a hand through his long red hair, which was matted together.

She couldn't think of another word to describe it, "Exhilarating," She could almost feel like she was in bird form again. Although she didn't know how this was an 'assassin' way.

"I imagine it would be insulting if you said anything less than that," he spoke.

Light flooded in, and Lysandra had to blink a few times to adjust to the brightness.

Arobynn was already out in the hallway, muscled legs marching swiftly away. She jogged after him.

The fortress was a labyrinth. Endless candle-lit corridors, confusing staircases, and a load of guest rooms, all designed to disorient. Her patience was starting to wear when they reached a noticeably wider staircase.

A dark-haired beauty was leaning against the banister. "You kept me waiting," she unfolded her arms with a pout, "What took you so long, mongrel?"

He responded by brushing his lips on her ear. Lysandra caught only two words: 'tonight' and 'mistress'.

The woman's ringlets bounced as she giggled, a lovely tinkling sound, then turned her attention to Lysandra.

"You must be our new little friend," she smiled, her stunning brown eyes twinkling. She stuck out a hand. "My name's Rose."

She took Rose's hand. It felt papery in hers.

"Clarisse is expecting you downstairs. I'll make Lysandra presentable in no time," Rose assured Arobynn, then glanced at her, "Follow me."

Still holding Lysandra's hand, she guided her upstairs, leaving Arobynn behind. She had unearthly elegance, Lysandra thought.

Upon reaching the upper landing, Rose put a hand at the small of her back and steered her to a mahogany door at the end of the short hall. She knocked on it six times, one long, five short.

Not a few seconds later a boy around her age rushed out and threw his arms tightly around Rose's waist. It was a while before Rose pried away from him lightly and held him at arm length, as if surveying the boy for damage.

"Do you have to work tonight?" He implored, his face shockingly similar to the one Rose wore.

"I'm afraid I do, my dear, but I brought you company. Sam, meet Lysandra." She gestured between them, "Lysandra, this is Sam. Now don't block the frame; we're in a hurry." She ushered both children inside, nudging the door shut with a hip.

Rose's poised facade melted away, replaced by grim determination. She crouched in front of Lysandra and grabbed her shoulders.

"What you're going to do in your life, was decided once you stepped into this prison," Rose said lowly, "you're already a courtesan. No orphan, attractive or plain, ever left. It's the matter of treatment you get here. Do you understand?"

Lysandra might have had heard the word 'courtesan' in passing, but she couldn't place it. She shook her head slightly.

Rose glanced at the clock fixed on the wall. "We don't have much time. I will feed you details as soon as possible, but now you have to be brought to Clarisse," She let go of her to open a drawer in her desk and rummaged through it. "Sit," she pointed at the stool beside her.

She obliged. Sam was sitting on one of the beds in the spacious room, fiddling with his fingers. There were two attached chambers. One was wide open that she could see it was a bathroom. The other, she guessed, was an enormous closet, based on the polished attire Rose wore.

Sam lifted his head and met her gaze. Again, those stunning eyes. He tilted his head as if asking why she was staring at him, but she merely shrugged.

"Sam, don't just squat on your bed and sulk, you know I have to work almost every night. Come here and help!" Rose barked, holding up various containers of cosmetics.

Sam groaned and got up, muttering something that sounded like "stupid cosmetics and their inventors".

A minute later, Rose started to paint her lips into a rosy shade of pink.

"After the exchange of money between Clarisse and Arobynn, you'll receive your tattoo," She showed her the inside of her wrist. A serpentine patchwork of colours swirled from the underside of her palm to her mid-forearm. "It was very painful, if I remember correctly. That pain only lasts for a few days."

She signaled Sam for the small bowl of black ink and the fine brush. He did as he was told, and stood by to watch curiously.

"Why don't you paint her eyelids and eyebrows too?" he asked deliriously, "You do that everyday."

Rose, who was currently painting her lashes black, snorted, "She's a little too young for that."

Lysandra made the mistake of blinking. She smeared some of the ink onto her cheek.

"Oh dear. Hand me the tissue, Sam. Immediately, please."

Lysandra did not grasp why she had to get painted and tattooed, as Rose wiped the ink from her face. But she was promised details later, so she shut up.

"Hold still for a minute一don't blink, or you'll ruin it again."

She was too busy battling the urge to lower her eyelids to answer.

After what seemed like ages later, Rose let out a cheerful 'Done!' then seized Lysandra's hand and stalked out of the room. Poor Sam. He must be left to clean up the mess they made.

She watched Rose's face fall into calm mode when she stopped at the edge of the stairs.

"Don't talk unless spoken to. Don't meet anyone's eye. Keep them lowered to the ground," She gave her some last minute advice. Lysandra nodded, marching down the steps hand in hand with Rose.

And marched to her doom.


End file.
